


Those Who Have Gone Before

by jujubiest



Series: SPN One-Shots [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Harvelle's Roadhouse, Heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin opens his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Have Gone Before

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 9x09: Holy Terror.

When he opens his eyes, there’s a blonde girl giving him the eyebrow of eternal skepticism.

"This guy," she says. "A prophet. Well, now I really have seen everything."

"Don’t shoot the messenger, Jo," says someone to Kevin’s right. "I’m just tellin’ you what Bobby told me."

"Well, let’s hope when he wakes up he can—hey! You’re awake." She’s finally noticed that he’s glaring at her. His glare would probably pack more of a punch if an endless chorus of  _what the hell_ weren’t singing across his synapses right now. He sits up, turns and swings his legs over the side of…a pool table?

"Why’m I on a pool table?"

"You can blame that one on Ash, honey." A new voice. "Damn fool didn’t have the sense to build this place with real beds."

"The dead don’t sleep, my friend," says the plaintive messenger. Kevin blinks and looks around. He appears to be in the sketchiest bar he’s ever seen—and considering his stint with the Winchesters, that’s impressive—surrounded by people he doesn’t know. Besides the blonde still giving him skeptic face, there’s an older brunette woman behind the bar, cleaning a glass. She gives him a reassuring sort of smile when he catches her eye.

Sitting at the bar with his back to Kevin is the owner of the most prodigious mullet Kevin has ever seen outside of a Patrick Swayze movie. The guy’s hunched over a laptop, and Kevin is pretty sure he’s the one who mentioned the name Bobby.

"Bobby?" He asks. "Is that Bobby Singer?"

A man steps forward. Older, gray beard and bags under his eyes, permanent frown lines around his mouth and a baseball cap he probably never takes off.

"Reckon that’s me," he says gruffly. "Do you know me, son?"

"No," Kevin says. "But I know Sam and Dean."

The room—which hadn’t exactly been bursting with noise before—goes utterly quiet. The blonde girl’s skeptical look is gone. She steps forward and looks him in the eyes.

"Who are you?" She asks. Her voice is quiet.

The blonde mullet breaks the silence, spinning away from his computer with an exasperated noise.

"I told ya already, he’s a prophet! He’s been shacked up with Sam n Dean for a few weeks now, till the inevitable happened."

"The…inevitable?" Kevin asks. Mullet shrugs.

"What happens to people who get close to Sam and Dean…who ain’t Sam, or Dean."

"They…wait." The pieces click into place. "Oh God. Am I  _dead?_ ”

The brunette woman gives him a sad smile.

"Them’s the brakes," she says. "Happens to the best of us."

"No," Kevin says. He can feel the panic building, and there’s no Mom to calm him down, no Dean to intimidate him into keeping it together. Not even a Cas to quite literally smack some sense into him. He feels it; he’s gonna snap. "No, you don’t understand. It can’t happen to  _me,_ okay. Sam and Dean need my help. They need someone to read the tablets. Who’s gonna help them read the tablets?”

"Not you anymore," says the blonde dourly. The brunette woman shoots her a reproving look, and puts down her glass. She comes out from behind the bar and approaches him slowly.

"Calm down, boy, ‘fore you pass yourself out. This floor’s not as cozy as it looks." She guides him by the elbow to a rickety wooden chair at one of the round tables in the room. He sits heavily and leans his elbows on the table, taking deep breaths while she rubs a soothing circle into the middle of his back. The others back up, give him space.

"There you go," she says softly. "It was harder for some of us than others, realizin’. But…you get used to it. It’ll be okay."

"I can’t help if I’m up here," Kevin says weakly. She shakes her head.

"Now that’s not true. You can still help a little."

Kevin looks up at her, hopeful.

"How?"

She smiles. “First thing’s first, kid. How about some introductions, and then some food? I’ll start.” She holds out a hand for him to shake, and he takes it without comment. This doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who takes much bullshit.

"Nice to meet ya, Kevin Tran. I’m Ellen. Welcome to the Roadhouse."


End file.
